


The Stans' book of oneshots

by bubbelpop2



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gay, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Multi, Reader is Nonbinary, Reader is male, Second-Hand Embarrassment, first chapter implied male, reader is female, requests always open, word gay used jokingly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbelpop2/pseuds/bubbelpop2
Summary: Prompts drabbles ideas and full stories about the grumpy old man twins' shenanigans with a male, nb, or female reader. Shameless fluff.





	1. Stanley and Stanford/reader: Handholding

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this please leave a comment. I know a lot of people say that but commenting really helps me improve my works.

   Your eyes are heavy with tired contentment as you blankly watch the television. Today was a good day, you and the younger twins happened to come upon a freshwater lake. Your muscles pleasantly ached from swimming all day, anchoring you down to the couch in the mystery shack.

  The back screen door teetered open to reveal Stanley back from harrassing random tourists.

"Alright I just looked at the browser history on the tablet, which one of you sick fucks is into hand holding?" Stan called out playfully, blatantly accusing both you and ford of being lonely.

Unable to respond verbally, you raise one of your dead arms and rest your elbow on the back of the couch so you don't have to hold it up.

" _A wise guy, eh_?"

Stanley unenthusiasticly glares at you before shuffling into the living room and taking off his blazer and tie to plop down beside you, crossing his legs over your lap.

You don't even hear any footsteps behind you before your still raised hand is enveloped in a much larger, and softer one. The fingers entertwine with yours, but instead of the usual five-finger hand holding you would expect from someone, an extra finger rests outside your pinky finger. You feel safe.

"Mmmhey, Ford. What're _you_ doin out of the basement at a decent time?"

"Ouch. My feelings _._ Do I need a reason to hold your hand?"

Ford affectionately kisses the back of your hand, rubbing your wrist with his thumb.

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Quit being so gay guys, I'm watching duck-tective."

Stan interrupts, and without taking his eyes off the screen, moves your other hand to rest on his knee, with his on top of yours.

You grunt in mock annoyance and close your eyes, squeezing Ford's hand for a moment. He returns the gesture, resting his scratchy face against you.

 

You could fall asleep like this.


	2. Stanford/demon reader: magic n stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford learns magic from the reader in the reformed bill universe.

So the reader is trying to teach ford how to use magic, as well as find his type of magic.  
So older Ford x gender neutral demon reader in the reformed bill universe here we go:

 

You circle around ford and conjure an image of 7 coloured wisps in the air.

"Magic has rules and is predictable, like matter, Ford. The word for magic in your language does not do it justice. It is not fake or unexplained."

"The first you learn is the easiest, it is yellow."

"Our word for this colour is trickery and cunning."

" It is technology,"

You conjure a golden motherboard in front of his face.  
"A tool,"

A wrench, a hammer, a melder, they all seem to mesmerize the scientist, he's staring slack jawed in awe at the display.

"A means to an end."

They all disappear.

"Law one: magic cannot be created or destroyed."

"But you can convert certain things Into magic, if you have the skill."

In a swift motion you swipe Ford's coat off him.  
"Hey!"

He quickly reaches to retrieve it, feeling exposed.  
In a flash of green it disappears.

"You can store the matter as an energy state called magic, and rearrange the particles into a new form. Like an element, or a bond."

You now hold a solid gold brick in your hand and plop it into his. The weight surprises him and he stumbles for a moment before righting himself. 

"What did you do to my coat?!"

"You want it back?"

You hit his forehead with your palm, he stumbles backward and lets out a small sound of protest.

"Then change it back, pansy."

"But I haven't even-"

"Just feel the meaning of the word, remember it is a tool, it bends to your will."

Ford gives you an incredulous look.

"Imagine with as little effort possible, the soft breath of a whisper shoving back acres of forest before it. The world bending to its path. That is the meaning of yellow. To rewrite the universe."  
_______________________________________________________________________________________  
You shoved Ford away again with a small burst of magic. He looks frustrated.

"It's only going to get harder from here, Ford."

He succeeds in creating a spark from the gold, but nothing else.  
"You're doing great, man. Try again."

Ford picks himself up and fixes his coat, readying himself to attempt another attack.

"Ah! Wait hold on,"

You shuffle your way over to his side of the room to rearrange his feet to the proper defense position much to his embarrassment. Your hands gripped his thigh just above his knee to turn his leg. 

"There we go."

Ford huffs and throws his gaze awkwardly to the ground.

"Must I be in this position?"

You stand up and dust off the knee of your pants.

"Only while you're learning, Ford"

Ford groans and gets into position again.

This time the spark sets his sweater aflame. Stanford starts shrieking and frantically pats his sweater sleeve until it smoulders.

Looks like it's time to change tactics.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________  
Ford expertly dodges your attacks and familiars, using his experience in the void much to his advantage.

He knows violence well.

Not well enough.

You quickly corner him with a wall.

"Uhh.. buddy? Kinda trapped here."

You almost feel sorry for him.

The wall begins closing in, and ford presses himself to the wall.  
"Hello? Are you even in the damn room?"

He sounds panicked now, and you hear him scramble to try and climb out.

"Let me out!"

You stop hearing movement, although he continues his sounds of distress. The wall is to close to him to be able to move.

"Please!"

You relent, you drop the wall and Ford falls to the ground with a panicked sob.

"Ford..? Are you alright?"

You slowly approach him, stepping gently before bending down to look at him. His face is blank, and he breathes deeply, trying to calm himself.

"I.."

He swallows.

"I'm not sure."

You stand up and hold out your hand to him. He accepts quickly and you pull him up to lean against your chest and gently place your hand on the back of his head.

"S'alright, Sixer. You did good for your first day, we can try again later."

You sweep him up and hold him bridal style, resulting in a surprised yelp from the old man.

"Ah! Hey! I can walk-!"

You grunt in acknowledgement and carry him upstairs to the living room to be greeted by Stanley and Bill watching the television.

Bill immediately notices your presence and pipes up.

"Well look who's alive! Thought you'd never get back up here."

This prompts Stanley to lean in your general direction, eyes sit glued to the screen. He manages to flick his gaze toward you for a moment before he laughs and looks back.

"They're carrying you like a babe, bro! What happened to you?"

Ford flusteredly sputters for a moment and you answer for him.

"Spooked him during training. He needs a break from being locked up in the basement."

"We gotta room upstairs that's supposed to be Soos's. Doesn't use it, though."

"Thanks, Stan!"

"Yeah, whatever."  
____________________________________________________________________________________________

You plop Ford down on the bed and return his coat, ruffling his hair.

"Good night, Stanford."

Ford's brows raise and cheeks darken at you using his full name, the clear endearment of your voice getting to him.

"G'night, Buddy."


	3. Stanford/dragon reader: Milk is good for every part of the body!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and ford talk in the middle of the night an' end up gettin A little frisky. Nothing too serious, though.

You sit on the counter in the pines' kitchen, quietly sipping some chocolate milk through a straw and kicking your feet idly. 

"Why do you drink so much milk?"

A deep voice resonating from your peripheral stops your swinging feet in surprise.

"Hmm. I do not believe it is..  _appropriate-"_

You sip your chocolatey concoction, Ford looks as if he's said something offensive on accident.

"- _to eat bones-_ around humans."

You can tell that he's not sure whether to be relieved or even more worried, as his shoulders only slightly relax to your statement.

"You can't see my scales because of my glamour, but they're made of calcium."

You hold out your arm and a white clunky armor covers your fingers before disappearing.

"Imagine osteoporosis but on your everywhere."

"Oh." 

There is an awkward pause for a moment while both of you think of questions to bombard the other with.

He's interesting, for a human. Not many share the same thirst for knowledge as him, and not many were quite as kind, either. 

You've been told that you might not see him as he sees himself, though. Being a child of time came with the benefit of seeing people's bodies as their personality fits it best, and although Ford doesn't look like a high class hot guy, he's charming as his own feat.

He looks rather squishy, and strong at the same time. You wonder if all humans are textured like him.

"You are mostly made of carbon, fat, and water, yes?"

The question interrupts his thoughts, mildly surprising him.

"Err... that's a strange way to put it but yeah."

He adverts his eyes while answering.

"So you are squishy, yes?"

"Uhm.."

Now, _this_ question sets him all in a fluster, as if you've just asked something personal.

"Can I squish you?"

His face lights up and he hides in his turtleneck.

 

Well then.

 

"Stanford?"

 

Using his full name only seems to worsen his embarrassment. Further prompting him to hide the rest of his body in his sweater.

You hear a muffled statement through the clothing as he shifts in it.

"What was that?"

He pops his head out of sweater land and chuckles nervously, repeating himself.

"I said 'As long as you don't crush me?'"

That is a fair boundary, you figure.

You bend down to eye level with the scientist, running your fingers over the sides of his head and through his greyed hair, lightly running your thumb over his temple. 

He seems openly surprised at your forwardness, though not obviously displeased with the subtle affection.

You opt to use your other hand to caress his chest, ghosting over his sweater and moving your hand downward to untuck his legs from his sweater.

He doesn't flinch when you touch his thighs to shift them to a different spot.

"Humans are so  _weird_ "

You lightly press your hand over his stomach, shifting it to feel the muscle under a thin layer of chubbiness.

"So delicate."

You kiss his forehead..

"Very beautiful, though."

His nose..

"I'm happy you trust me to do this."

Your hand in his hair slides down to rest on his inner thigh, squeezing it for a moment as you place another kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He stutters and quickly turns his head from your gaze.

"It's not- it's- I uh-"

He swallows thickly, composing his thoughts.

"It's not, uhm,  _unpleasant_ , to have you touching me."

You look up in interest.

"It's nice to have physical contact, I guess."

You hum and nip under his jaw, trailing down kisses to the nape of his neck, pulling his sweater's collar out of the way. He whimpers under you and you pull away, concern on your face.

"I uhm.. can we uh-"

Stanford fidgets with his hands.

"Stop for now? I don't wanna.."

He looks down and begins to trail off.

 

"...on the kitchen floor.."

 

"at 3am."

 

You let out a laugh and help him back up from his flustered puddle on the floor and get him to bed.

 

Maybe another time.


	4. Stanley/reader: #wastehistime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You flustered your boss for no particular reason.

"Yeah, sorry darlin' but this shameless display is off limits-"

You watch from behind the counter as your boss harasses a group of tourists in front of the fake bat display, playfully flirting with the group as he continues with the tour. -And you get the stupidest, most wonderful idea ever to make a show out of it.

"Damn."

You click your tongue in mock disappointment. You quickly catch Stan's attention swearing in front of the tourists.

"Why did I bother coming to work today? Talk about wastin' my time-"

You shake your head and trail off, grabbing a magazine off the counter, opening it to a random page and pretending to read as you sassily plop yourself in the chair behind the checkout counter and cross your feet on the desk.

You don't look up to see Stanley's reaction, but you can hear laughter coming from the tourist group, as well as nervous chuckling behind it.

"What's that over there?!"

Stanley quickly makes up a distraction and uses a pink smoke bomb to escape the awkward situation. But before the cloud dissipates you could've sworn you felt someone lightly hit your shoulder, as if telling a little kid to be nice without speaking.

_______________________________________________________________

It's after hours and you're retelling the story of your playful flirting with your boss to Mabel and her friends Candy and Grenda. You're all giggling and choking on your drinks because you can't stop-

" _Real_ funny stunt you pulled, there-"

Stan puts a hand on your shoulder and takes an audible sip of his peach soda.

"- _buddy_."

If not for this glorious opportunity to totally dunk Stan, you probably would've been shaking in terror by now.

"Buddy? Now that's just cruel, Stan."

You look away and sniff dramatically, wiping away a tear that isn't there.

"I thought you loved me-"

You don't get to finish your sentence before you burst out in laughter, tears springing to your eyes as you fall to the floor.

"Oh m y go d-" 

The group of girls starts giggling hysterically and hiding their faces.

Stan doesn't look amused, but you sure as hell are. Come to think of it, Stan not only doesn't look amused, he's embarrassed! His cheeks are fucking pink! That's _amazing_.

____________________________________________________________________

You grab your keys behind the desk and head out the door, stopping in the middle to yell a quick goodbye to the younger twins and Ford, but before you could get to Stan-

A hand much larger than yours smacks your behind on the way out. You yelp in surprise and quickly turn around to see your boss wink. You manage to counter with a quick comment, though.

"-and I'll see _you_ tomorrow, buddy."

You shut the door just slow enough to hear his flustered sputtering.

 


	5. Stanley/demon reader: craft me a promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader teaches Stanley how to use blue magic. Takes place after Stanford/demon reader. Bill is technically there too I guess he's just not mentioned.

"Blue magic," you begin, allowing a sapphire flame to circle your arm, and come to rest in your hand.

"In your language, it is a promise, a bet, and a deal. A covenant."

A contract, a wad of cash, and a blue rainbow appear and vanish.

"I thought it fitting,"

You face Stan.

"Teaching you blue, I mean."

He looks tense, like he's in a class he hasn't payed attention to all year and it's finals week. Like a sweaty nervous, business man.

"-considerin' your line of work, even with your dishonesty, you strike deals daily with several people." You pause to give him time to respond.

He says nothing, but only raises his brow in mild interest. You continue.

"Thing is, the deal always has to have some physical form of confirmation. Like.. a contract, a handshake.. hell a pinky promise 'd prolly do the trick."

Stanley leans on his cane and huffs, clearly impatient to get back to his tv soaps.

"'M guessin' your gonna make a deal with me for practice, right? Well you could probably obtain plenty of things that _I_ want, but what would you want from me?"

You decide to kick his cane out from under him, successfully planting the old man on his ass. Resulting in an annoyed 'hey' and mumbled swears in your general direction.

"Nothin', really. Not at the moment, anyways. I want you to make a deal with me. Not the other way around. That'd just defeat the purpose of this whole thing."

The veins in your hand glow a soft blue, before a blue fire snakes along them, coursing through your fingertips and forming as a small flame at the end of each.

You knock Stanley's fez off and grip the side of his head, jerking him forward to meet your eyes.

"Uh," Stan's voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. You don't think you've ever seen him flustered before. But then again you're sure he doesn't trust a lot of people to be this close.

".. _doll_?"

You exhale a wisp of blinding neon light, barely brushing your bottom lip against his.

 

Stan quickly inhaled at the wrong time, choking himself on the magic.

 

Oh dear.

 

"You alright, dude?"

You stand back up and give him a bored gaze, scuffing your feet against the floor idly.

"You- uh- i-"

Stanley furrows his brows, cheeks flushing in realization of how close you actually were. His heart is swelling like a goddamn teenager sneaking off with their crush.

"You should be able to make a deal now, by the way."

You hold out his cane to help him up.

"Craft me a promise, Stanley."

He stands with wobbly legs and an utterly confused expression, struggling to speak.

You rest your chin on Stan's cane and smile.

"How 'bout if I continue to let you stay here with me, Ford, and the isosceles asswipe-"

He pauses and laughs.

"You hit me up with some conversation and moral support, eh? Gets a bit lonely without the preteens here."

 

...

 

"-And maybe the occasional tourists' wallet."

You lean up.

"Alright then, Mr. Mystery, but how do you plan to seal that deal?"

Stan chuckles and presses you to his chest. His usually brown eyes turn a blinding, fiery blue.

Stan dramatically tips you over in a kiss, making an overly acted 'muah' sound effect as a flaming light escapes from a gap inbetween you.

 _'Well,'_ you think,

 

_'That's one way to do it.'_


	6. Stanford/reader: Walkman.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader falls into Ford's lab and embarrasses him.

You currently lie on the floor of Ford's basement in shock. You had just fell through the roof of the room by dropping your phone under the porch and attempting to retrieve it, only to fall through a hole in the basement's ceiling. You're surprised Ford hadn't come rushing in as soon as he heard the crash.

You look to your side as spot him with headphones on.

  
Oh.

  
"Ford?"  
No response.

  
You shuffle to your feet and pick up your phone. The screen is cracked, but you manage to turn it on and open it without cutting your hand.

  
"What the hell are you doing down here?"

  
You jump and drop your phone for a second time.

  
Stanford picks up your phone and pockets it absentmindedly, he's looking at you with a disappointed frown. He doesn't seem angry, just worried.

  
He only just now seems to notice you surrounded by the wooden rubble of the ceiling, along with the new source of light coming from it.

  
"Wow, Stanford. I just fell through the roof, is your music up that high?"

  
He blankly stares at you with raised eyebrows for a moment before figuring out what you had said, his eyes twitching to the hole in the roof.

  
"Are-" he sputters, not knowing how to respond.

  
"Whuh-i"

  
"Well, I- _are you okay_?"

  
He finally stops stuttering and steps closer to inspect your face and posture, looking over for injuries and brushing rubble off of your shoulder.

  
"I- I think so, yeah."

  
You dust the front of your shirt and legs off.

  
"Please tell me that's not a walkman with a tape labled '50 shades of grey', Stanford."

  
....

  
"This is not a walkman containing a tape labled '50 shades of grey'."

  
You snatch the walkman and make a b-line for the elevator. Clearly Ford had been off-guarded by your presence in his lab, or you wouldn't have even walked away.

  
"You hesitated!" You call behind you, distracting yourself long enough to have an interesting up close encounter with a beam.

  
SMACK!

  
You are promptly picked up by Ford, attempting to retrieve his casset player.

  
"Please, - _oof_ \- **God** would a little cardio _kill_ you? _Ah-_! Give it- _give_! Give it _back_!"

  
".. give me my phone back?"

  
"This is a phone?"

  
"Yeah press the button on the side."

  
Ford does so and is greeted by the touch screen twitching and under his constant pressure. Your background is a dead meme that you've pestered him with for awhile now, and you don't even seem to have a set passcode to prevent theft.

  
"Huh."

  
He sets you down and hands you your phone.

  
"Now, may I _please_ -"

  
Ford makes an exasperated gesture, holding out his hand.

  
"Have it back?"

  
You think for a moment of what else you might squeeze out of him to get his walkman back.

  
"How bout a lil sugar?"

  
You lean forward and tap your cheek with your index finger.

  
"Plant one on me."

  
Ford blusters and furrows his angry brows, cheeks puffing up in clear embarrassment. He leans forward and quickly kisses your cheek. If it can even be considered a kiss because he just brushed his lips against your cheekbone before pulling back like he'd just touched fire. Which, by the way, seemed to be a colour his face fancied sporting today.

  
_You kept the walkman for a few days after that._


	7. Billford/reader: He Won't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill knows you have a crush on Ford. Shenanigans ensue.

'Well,' You think. 'this is quite the predicament.' 

You find yourself trapped under a certain yellow-eyed dream demon. Who also happens to look like the hottest old guy you've ever seen- not that there's much competition, mind you- that's not the point, though. The  point is the Isosceles asswipe has possessed your friend. The hot one. You know. Ford. Bill has possessed Ford and no matter how tempting whatever offer he makes you can't let him take your friend!

"You alright there, buddy?"  

A familiar treble interrupts your thoughts. Ford leans forward to grab the back of your thighs and slam you onto the desk, hurting your pelvic bone and knocking a few stray items off the desk. If it were actually Ford you're quite sure you wouldn't mind being manhandled like this. Which -under different circumstances- wasn't a bad thought, now that you mention it.

"Looking a little hot under the collar, _pal_ "

You snap your eyes to meet his unnerving stare. There's not much else you can look at, anyway. He's way too close to your face for that.

"Y'know, I really think that if you just-"

His hands squeeze a little to close to your crotch for comfort.

"-loosen up a little, we can make some sort of deal."

Bill moves a centimeter forward, and his lips barely brush against yours as he talks.

" _You_ get the man of your dreams, and **_I-_** "

He nips your bottom lip and tightens his grip on your thighs. His voice no longer sounds like a chipmunk played with a voice changer, but sounds like the regular bass you've fantasized about in this situation more than you'd like to admit.

"-get to stay long enough for you to buy me breakfast."

Ford's eyes crackle with the flame of a sinister blue.

"He won't know. I promise."

He chuckles.

Oh boy.


	8. Stanley/reader/stanford: Batter be good.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have a plot idea before I started this I just felt like writing.

You walk into the mystery shack, having been gone for about 10 minutes at most. 

Sanity? Never heard of her.

The second thing you notice is Ford, Mabel, and Stan are in a pile on the kitchen floor. The _first_  thing you notice is that said human pile is covered in a gross concoction of edible glitter, flour, chocolate syrup and some type of paste you're going to hope is icing.

Ford looks up from the floor, briefly pausing his sulking to greet you.

"Uh. Hi."

Smooth, Ford.

Stan grumbles from the bottom of the pile as a half-assed hello as well. Mabel's fashion of greeting follows much the same attitude.

"So, uh."

You scuff your shoes on the tile idly.

"Anybody gonna tell me what happened?"

Both, Well, actually all three of the twins (you failed to notice Dipper enter earlier) point at Waddles in the corner. The stans groan at the effort it took to raise their hand.

"Hey Bill!"

Said triangle floats into the kitchen.

"Yeah whaddya waAAOOH-"

"What happened here?"

You give Bill a withering look.

"What? I didn't do this."

"Can you help me shovel them out of the pile of whatever this is?"

"What do I look like? A slave?"

You don't need to remind him that he is indeed, for all intents and purposes, just that.

"Oh. Right. Treaty, duh."

Bill snaps his noodle-esque fingers and the human pile, along with the kitchen is no longer completely covered in the doughy substance. 

"There. Done."

Bill levitates the ragdolled humans into a standing position.

"Even a little something extra for you. Later!"

Bill disappeared from the scene.

The stans, bless their precious souls, are barely standing up. Dipper is already dragging his twin to the attic, so you decide to do the same and drag the older twins to bed.

It's slow, and your back is dying more than they are right now, but you manage to drag them into Stan's room and tuck them in without incident.

"You guys okay?" 

A duet consisting of grumpy old man grunts answers you. You laugh and climb inbetween them. Getting comfortable was more awkward that you would've liked, having to spoon someone about twice your size and try to convince the person behind you to do the same so you don't feel guilty.

You settle on being sandwiched inbetween the twins with your right leg and arm over Stanley, and Ford behind you doing the same. As soon as you stop moving the twins are dead asleep. You ponder what on earth Mabel was trying to cook as you absentmindedly rub Stan's side. He looks at you and suddenly the pattern of his shirt seems really interesting right about now. He gives a singular 'heh' before closing his eyes again.

Maybe the cooking disaster wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
